


Soft Touch

by magnolia_9



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Marriage, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Multiple Major Character Deaths, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 09:34:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14541822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magnolia_9/pseuds/magnolia_9
Summary: After a disaster befalls Alexandria, Negan takes on a new and unexpected role in the life of its remaining survivors.





	Soft Touch

**Author's Note:**

> This story came about while I was writing something else (a Regan week story with the marriage + destruct prompts - still working on it!), and I had the thought to take a similar concept in a different direction. What ended up coming out of that is a story about Rick in extremely tragic circumstances, and Negan feeling the tension between wanting to be a savior vs. a conqueror, which I think is a major conflict within the character. The thing I want to warn everyone about is that the situation presented in the story is extremely sad and involves the deaths of most of Team Family, so if that's something you try to avoid, this might be one to skip.

Negan leaned his head into his hands, scrubbing at his eyes to rub away the tired burn. He had been working at the ledgers all morning. Managing a post-apocalyptic economy was no small task, and the amount of labor and goods exchanged across the communities seemed to grow by the day.

The rebuilding of Alexandria alone took a massive amount of coordination, although it was proceeding smoothly and on schedule. Negan had been sure that particular project would be a massive drain on his resources, but the opposite had proved to be true. Taking on responsibility for the ruined settlement had set off a paradigm shift in the relationship between the Sanctuary and the surrounding communities. Not only did the Kingdom and the Hilltop step forward to help shoulder the burden, but the unexpected success of that coordinated effort also spawned more and more projects.

Secure roads between the settlements. Collaborative scavenging. Coordinated patrols. Shit that was hard as _shit_ to set up, but every last endeavor had paid dividends.

_It’s common sense, Negan. When we pool our resources, we all end up with more, not less._

He could hear the words as clearly as if they were spoken aloud in that familiar slow, honey-sweet drawl.

Someone knocked a cheerful little rhythm into Negan’s door, and he lifted his head with an aggravated huff. “Who the fuck is it?”

The door swung open, and Simon waltzed in, a grin plastered across his face. “You in a mood, boss man? Hell, I am about to turn that frown right upside-fucking- _down_.” He flung himself into a chair in front of Negan’s desk, still wearing that ear-to-ear grin.

Negan sat back, feeling his lips twitch a little in spite of himself. “Yeah? What’s the good fucking news, then? You find some old dead, dirty bastard’s porn stash or something?”

“Shit, don’t harsh my vibe like that, man. You know how much this fucking dry spell hurts me. I haven’t found any new porn in months. I’d settle for a crusty copy of a Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue at this point. No, boss, the scouting party came back - the ones that went out with the goddamn knights of the round table. The Kingdom weirdos. They found guns. I’m talking an _ass-load_ of guns, boss,” Simon said, waggling his eyebrows and squeezing his hands in the air as if he were manhandling a luscious backside. “Dropped our cut off with the sheriff.”

Negan grunted in acknowledgment. Rick had taken to the work at the armory. He knew guns. Knew cleaning them, oiling them, keeping them sorted and catalogued and accounted for. Knew exactly how to scold the people who handled them carelessly: like a disappointed father. It was amazing how well that shit worked on even the most rough-edged Savior prototype. Negan had caught one or two of his most rabid dogs shuffling their feet sheepishly in front of Rick while he went on about how _the safety was off, Terrence, you can’t walk around with the safety off. That ain’t a toy; it’s a gun. You wanna shoot off a toe or somethin’ by accident?_

“Can you swing by the armory and tell the sheriff to come up when he finishes with ‘em?”

“For a little afternoon delight?” Simon chuckled. “Sure thing, boss. How’s it goin’ with that, anyway? Can’t believe he’s actually fucking you.”

“Why the fuck not?” Negan snapped, annoyed. “I’ve been a perfect fucking gentleman. More than that. Handed him the keys to the goddamn kingdom, didn’t I? Let him do whatever he wants around here. Run the armory, give out food without points, start all this goddamn gardening shit - place is a fucking hippie commune these days thanks to Sheriff Let’s-all-work-together-to-make-a-rainbow. I let that shit happen - that’s not worth a fuck?”

“Sure it is, boss,” Simon said, raising his hands placatingly. “I’d fuck you for it, that’s for sure.”

Negan snorted, flopping back and glaring. “I’m a good husband, you gaping asshole,” he muttered.

“Never said you weren’t,” Simon said, brow furrowing a little. “I never heard any complaints.”

Negan shrugged. “Neither have I, I guess, but that ain’t worth a squirt in hell.”

—

“Straddle me, Rick - no, facing the other way. Reverse cowboy, cowboy. That’s it, darlin’. Oh, fuck, that’s a million dollar view.” Negan reached out and rubbed his hands over the full, alluring ass he had just been presented with. He parted the flesh gently, feeling his skin prickle with heat at the sight of the ring of flesh hidden there, already softened and slick from his ministrations. “You look ready for it, baby. Are you?”

In response, Rick reached back to grasp Negan, positioning him at his entrance. Negan watched the display with his teeth almost piercing his lip. A long, low, growling groan rolled out from between his bared teeth as Rick sank on his steely, aching cock. He paused after a few inches, and Negan heard his breath quicken and saw his thighs tremble.

“Easy, baby,” he grunted. He was still spreading him with both hands, and he squeezed him gently.

Rick, ever contrary, took a deep breath and then pressed himself firmly down a few more inches before pausing again with a breathy whimper.

“Rick -“

“Grab me by the hips,” he grunted. “Push into me.”

_Oh, fuck._ Heat flared between his hips, and it was with an effort that Negan resisted doing just that. “You in a rush, sweetheart? Come on. I don’t want to fucking hurt you.”

Rick bent his head and sighed, and Negan slid his warm palms from his ass to the dimples in his low back, pressing his thumbs into them and rubbing small circles there. Rick sighed again, the sound growing heavier and shakier. He slid a little further down on the next exhale, and Negan let out a low, pleased rumble.

“You look so goddamn beautiful like this, Rick.”

Rick let out a breathy laugh, faint scorn in it. “That’s real sweet of you, Negan, to tell me that when I’m facin’ away.”

“Come on, baby,” he purred, kneading the tense muscles of Rick’s low back beneath his fingers steadily, “don’t be like that. You know what I mean. You’re fucking gorgeous from every angle.” He grinned triumphantly as the back of Rick’s neck turned pink, moving his hands back to his ass to spread him apart. He gave a groan of appreciation. “I’m telling you, Rick, this fucking view. This shit should be immortalized. This shit can be immortalized. You wanna take some dirty pictures, baby?”

Rick shook his head hard, curls flying.

“Come on, baby, please,” Negan coaxed, running his hands back down to Rick’s thighs, “just for me. It would just be for me. Private collection.” He massaged the strong muscles, feeling them soften beneath his stroking fingers.

Rick gave a tiny sigh at the attention and slid all the way down, taking Negan into him to the hilt as his thighs gave out under the relaxing touch. Negan clenched his teeth, feeling his eyes flutter back in his head.

“Just you,” Rick said sharply, and it was a question, a plea, and a command all at once.

“Just me,” Negan echoed softly. “Just me, sweetheart.”

Rick hung his head, and Negan felt a tiny twist of guilt deep in his gut. _He doesn’t want to,_ he thought, _so you should fucking drop it._ He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

“Okay,” Rick murmured, and Negan scrambled through his bedside drawer, seizing the polaroid camera he kept tucked in there. His _private_ camera - it wasn’t the one he brought with him to take his grisly souvenirs, but he couldn’t kid himself that it was a pleasant association, and another little pulse of guilt traveled through him.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured as he looked through the viewfinder, trying to soften the sting that Rick had to be feeling. As often happened with him when he opened his mouth, he found that he couldn’t shut it again. “So, so fucking beautiful, baby, fucking look at you. You’re perfect. All spread out and sitting on my cock. Your ass, Rick, Christ, it’s a work of art. Get halfway up, honey. I want to see - _fuck_ , that’s fucking perfect, right there.”

It was fucking perfect, and Negan struggled mightily to not just let go and come at the sight - Rick straddling him, positioned to show his thick cock disappearing into that work-of-art ass, holding obediently still for the click-flash-whir of the camera. Negan pulled the picture out and shook it for a moment, sinking his teeth into his lip as he tried to get a hold of himself.

Rick’s shoulders were pink, and Negan hoped it was more arousal than embarrassment. He set the photo carefully aside, clearing his throat. “Plausible deniability, baby. Even if someone broke into my private stash, they couldn’t be sure it’s your ass in the photo, considering how much of a fucking slut I am.”

Rick snorted faintly but said nothing.

“Ride me a little, cowboy,” Negan sighed, settling back into the pillows beneath his back and head. He groaned in appreciation as Rick did, sinking and rising slowly over his cock before finding a smoother rhythm. _A trot,_ Negan thought, amusing himself. A faint noise reached his ears - one of Rick’s muffled moans, as if his enjoyment were a secret he was desperately trying to keep.

They had been at this for months, and Rick had come undone for him time and time again, moaning, screaming, panting, but no matter how many shrieking orgasms he was brought to, he still tried to guard every little whimper of pleasure like he was giving away secrets to the enemy.

He supposed he was, in a way, and Negan cringed at the thought. Did Rick still see him as an enemy? He hadn’t thought of Rick that way in a long time. Hell, he had stopped thinking of him that way even before he proposed the arrangement that brought him into his bed.

—

Alexandria had been devastated by a herd that had seemed to creep up on them overnight. The Sanctuary’s defenses had a blind spot on the far side of Alexandria: there were no outposts beyond the walled city, and the herd had ambled right up to the their exposed flank.

Negan had charged in with his cavalry the moment he got wind of it, but much of the damage had been done long before they arrived. The death count had been sobering, and Rick had lost nearly all of his original band of survivors. Negan had found him kneeling with his arms around a handsome, dark-haired man who was almost screaming with the force of his sobs, half-crazed with grief, face pressed into Rick’s side.

_Aaron,_ Negan remembered. The figure crumpled in front of them had reddish blonde hair matted with blood where a single bullet had ensured that he wouldn’t get up from the dusty street again. His delicate face looked composed, serene. The bite was at his shoulder.

“Rick,” he had said, very, very gently.

The man turned his face up to him. The moment his eyes, stark and heartbreakingly lovely as they glimmered through the film of his tears, met his, Negan made up his mind about all of it: what he would do with Alexandria and what he would do with Rick.

“Could you please give us a minute,” Rick said, voice gravelly, as if he had done his own screaming and crying. “Just a minute.”

“Of course,” he said quietly, and something like shock flashed across Rick’s face. Like he could hardly believe that Negan could be reasonable about this. _‘Course I can be,_ Negan had thought to himself as Rick bent his head back over his friend. _You’re gonna be my husband, after all. I can be reasonable. I can be good. Good to you. Just watch._

He _annexed_ Alexandria, or at least that’s how Sherry had put it when he ran the idea by her. She was the closest thing to a diplomatic advisor he had, and he felt like he needed some diplomacy here. _Soft touch,_ that’s what she was always urging. _You need to use a soft touch sometimes, Negan. You can get to the top by being the meanest dog in the junkyard, but you need a soft touch to convince people that they want you to stay on top._

How right she had fucking been about that - Alexandria had been planning to rise up with the other communities before they were overrun. Negan had actually gotten the intel from that smarmy fuck Gregory from the Hilltop, and he had been in the process of planning his next move - amid a good deal of pacing and shouting and swearing - when the news about the herd reached the Sanctuary. Yes, there had been a fucking full-on motherfucking post-apocalyptic war of fucking independence brewing, and maybe a _soft touch_ could have averted that.

It wasn’t too late, Negan decided, as he looked into Rick’s red, wet eyes. No, it wasn’t too late.

So he annexed Alexandria, settled some able-bodied citizens of the Sanctuary there along with enough Saviors to keep the town secure while its defenses were repaired, poured resources into rebuilding it, and installed Sherry as its viceroy. _Viceroy_ was her word - apparently she had been a political science major in college. He sent Dwight along as her second with a wry blessing - _whatever you kids get up to in suburbia is your business_. That last concession was very fucking hard for him to make, but he thought it was only fair that he not leave Sherry high and dry. Especially since he himself would be returning to the Sanctuary with a war bride. _War bride_ was another of Sherry’s terms, and she had used it with a disapproving look.

“I don’t know what the fuck you think this is about, but it’s fucking simple. I can’t leave the guy who was planning a fucking rebellion in charge, but I don’t…I’m not gonna fucking hurt him, Sherry. I _like_ him. I’ve always liked him. This is the perfect fucking solution. The communities get merged, and he gets to be at the top of the fucking food chain. Him and his people. Political marriage. Didn’t you fucking learn about those in class?”

“You’ve always liked him?” Sherry echoed curiously, watching him through her long, dark lashes. “You got a funny way of showing it, don’t you, Negan?”

—

Negan licked his lips, looking at the back of the curly head as Rick bounced steadily on his throbbing cock.

_You shouldn’t,_ he thought reproachfully at himself.

He did, though. Of course he did. “Look at me, Rick.”

Rick knew what what that meant; he wasn’t stupid. He slowed down. “Negan,” he said, and it was that tone. The _Negan-I’m-serious_ tone. The _Negan-please_ tone.

That tone could stop him dead in his tracks. He knew how much it cost Rick to beg him. There had been a time, not so very long ago, that it had been thrilling to bring him low like that, but now it just made his mouth taste dusty and his stomach turn in on itself.  
  
But because he still loved getting what he wanted above all else, he had learned to develop a counter-attack. And it was a god-fucking-damned _good_ one, too, because it was the last thing Rick expected from him. He _knew_ what Rick expected from him, expected from this arrangement - he could read it in his eyes when he first said _yes_ to him. He expected threats and coercion. He expected _hurt_ \- to be made to endure Negan like some hellish tribulation that had been inflicted on him, as if he were Job himself, abandoned by his god to the whims of the devil.

He never in a million years expected -

“Oh, honey,” Negan cooed, voice warmed up and simmering, “ _please_. It’s just for me. Say yes, Rick, come on. Baby, I’m begging you. I just want one of your pretty face. Can’t blame me, can you? You blame me because I can’t get enough of looking at you?”

“All right, all right,” Rick said in a strangled tone, “but it’s just for you, Negan.” It was an admonishment, presumably, but Negan could hear the shy offering in it, the one that Negan could charm out of Rick in spite of everything. _Just for you, Negan._ It was a victory so sweet he could practically _taste_ it spreading over his tongue.

Rick turned his head over his shoulder, and it was fucking _perfect_. He was flushed, the color a warm, dusky pink at his cheeks. His eyes had the hazy look they always got when Negan fucked him, like the pleasure had him lost and a little bewildered. His lips were parted as if he were about to say something in protest, his eyebrows furrowed faintly, and the overall effect was to create a picture he had seen countless times in the dirty movies he was a goddamn pro at sneaking out of the video store as a teenager.

_I see you don’t have the rent again this month, Miss Smith. Perhaps there’s another arrangement we can come to._

_Oh, I really shouldn’t, Mr. Jones, sir,_ Miss Smith would say while wearing that very same expression, but by that time she was already bent over a desk with her skirt up and her filmy, impractical panties around her ankles. _I really shouldn’t._ Shooting the camera that reluctant, coy look as her creditor positioned himself behind her.

He used to find it depressing even as his hand moved eagerly over his cock. Depressing fucking story with depressing fucking implications, and Mr. Jones looked like a grade-A smarmy prick. The actress had forgotten herself at one point and let out a little giggle, and that was probably the only reason why Negan was able to come with a relatively clear conscience. He was a kid, with fumbling ideas about sex, but even then the wrongness of the whole scenario practically slapped him in the face.

And here he was, with years and years of wrongness in between that kid and the man he was today. If Rick had been able to pay the rent on time, metaphorically speaking, he wouldn’t be here, in his bed, on his cock.

He shoved those thoughts away as he snapped the picture. “Plausible deniability,” he said, sounding more than a little breathless. “It’s just your head and shoulders. No one could know that you’ve got an ass full of me, sweetheart.”

That was a lie, though. One look at the face in the photo, and it would be obvious. That expression said _I’m being fucked right now._

_Oh, Mr. Jones, you really shouldn’t._

Rick turned his face away again and said nothing.

—

The first night Rick was at the Sanctuary, Negan sat on his plush, luxurious couch with a glass of whiskey, wondering whether he should summon the blue-eyed man up to his room and try his luck or give him a few days of space before he broached the subject of consummation. He supposed the latter would be the diplomatic thing, but he was half-hard. Besides, he happened to know from experience that a solid fuck was a hell of an anti-depressant, albeit a temporary one.

He was turning it over in his mind when there was a brisk knock at his door. “Someone to see you, boss,” the guard called.

“Well, show’em the fuck in,” Negan called back, taking a sip of his whiskey. He nearly choked on it when Rick appeared, the guard shuffling in behind him. “Sheriff,” he croaked, “was just fucking thinking about you. Beat it, Steve.”

The guard nodded dutifully and retreated, leaving Rick standing in the doorway of Negan’s sitting room, looking ill at ease.

“Come in, sweetheart,” Negan said softly. “Have a seat. Whiskey or bourbon?”

Rick hesitated for a moment, looking like he was considering bolting straight out of the room. “Bourbon,” he said finally, coming to sit down at the end of the couch.

Negan rose and went to the sideboard, pouring him a few fingers. _Try not to fuck this up,_ he told himself. _Soft touch,_ Negan, he could almost hear Sherry say. “Kids settling in okay?” he asked mildly as he handed Rick his drink.

Rick immediately took a long swallow. “Yeah,” he said stiffly, looking away and grimacing a little at the burn of the alcohol. “It’s…thank you. It’s generous. Their rooms.”

“I’m gonna take care of them, Rick,” he said quietly. “I know you don’t trust that. Don’t trust _me_. But you will.”

Rick took another heavy swallow, his gaze still fixed somewhere to Negan’s right. “Can we just get this over with?” he said, so quietly that Negan wasn’t sure he heard him.

“What?”

Rick drew a deep breath and lifted his mournful eyes to Negan’s. “Let’s just get this over with,” he repeated, sounding as defeated as he looked.

Anger bloomed in Negan’s chest, pricking him like nettles. “Honey,” he said with forced calm, “that’s not how this is gonna work.”

Rick flinched as if he had been slapped, his eyes widening in surprise. “What?”

“What?” Negan parroted irritably. “What did you think? That I was gonna pound you for twenty minutes and then let you limp back to your room to cry about it? Fuck you. I’m not a fucking animal.”

Rick’s face was reddening with shame and with the effort of staying composed, and Negan kicked himself internally at the sight of the man’s obvious misery.

_You’re fucking it up, you fucking idiot._

“Rick,” Negan tried again, “I’m so-“ he choked a little on the words, lifting a hand to scrub at his mouth. “Look, I keep trying to fucking tell you. I don’t want to hurt you. Okay? Could you stop looking at me like I’m about to nail your ass to a fucking cross?”

Rick hung his head. “I’m just tryin’ to do whatever the hell it is you want,” he said quietly. “That’s all. Just tell me what you want, Negan. I can’t play these games. I never was any good at ‘em.”

The sincerity of his words burned Negan somewhere deep in his chest, liberating his own well-guarded sincerity. “I want you stop being so fucking sad, Rick,” he said after a quiet moment. “I know that that you lost a lot of people. Not just people,” he sighed, “family. Okay? I fucking get it. I don’t want to make you any more fucking sad than you already are. Maybe you should just go back -“

Rick let out a ragged, gasping sob, and Negan nearly dropped his glass. He had never heard anything so horribly raw come out of the man, even that night in the clearing. He had been too dazed and shocked for it then, he realized, just as he had been too dazed and shocked when he buried his dead in Alexandria. But the shock had lifted, the grief was oozing out like rot from an infected wound, and Rick was openly weeping now, tears pouring down his flushed cheeks.

Negan was against the other man in a moment, pulling him roughly into his arms and against his chest. He heard the dull thud of Rick’s glass hitting the floor, its contents sloshing out onto the carpet. He pressed Rick’s face into his shoulder with a hand to the back of his head, feeling the fabric of his teeshirt turn immediately sodden in the flood of his tears.

“Baby,” he murmured into his hair, “I know. It’s fucking horrible. It’s all so goddamn fucking horrible. You don’t deserve it. You never deserved it, sweetheart.”

Rick stifled a miserable wail against his shoulder, reaching up and sinking his fingers into the fabric of his shirt, clinging to him, and it was in that moment that Negan realized he had won.

And a part of him was _elated_.

_I’m going to hell,_ he thought, aghast at himself for the first time in a long time.

Rick sobbed and sobbed and sobbed against him, abandoned to a wild grief, his entire body shaking. When he finally quieted, Negan pulled his teeshirt off and wiped his face gently with it. Rick allowed it, tipping his head back pliantly at the touch of guiding hands, and that set something hot and triumphant and primal throbbing in Negan’s chest - but not only in his chest.

He had gotten hard.

His erection was nosing against Rick’s hip where he was crushed against him. Rick didn’t move away, but then again, why would he? There was nowhere left to go.

Negan pulled him to his feet, and Rick went with perfect docility, swaying a little and with eyes red and raw in his wan face.

Negan led him with a steadying arm around his waist through the doorway at the far end of his sitting room. He led him to his bed.

_I’m going to hell,_ he thought again as he laid him down carefully in a soft cloud of grey silk sheets, fingers already hungrily unbuttoning.

He was exquisitely careful, although he knew better than to think that there was any absolution to be had in that. He touched him as if he were made of glass, kneaded him until he melted into the soft mattress beneath them, coaxed him open with slick, gentle fingers. He wrapped his long, powerful limbs around him as he came, holding him snugly against his chest as more tears poured from him along with the white flood of his release.

_I’m going to hell,_ he thought one final time as he shuddered through his own peak, filling the man in his arms, the man who had raised an army against him. He marked him like the animal he had sworn up and down that he wasn’t. “I’m gonna take care of you, baby,” he whispered into his damp hair, as if the sweet words could negate that ugly joy that was still pulsing red in the dark heart of him. “See? Gonna be…gonna be so fucking good to you. You’ll see. I can be good.”

—

Negan set the camera aside and tried to set aside the sour guilt with it. He reached down and grasped Rick’s hips gently. “You’re a good sport, baby,” he said quietly as he urged Rick to resume. “Ah, fuck, _Rick_ ,” he moaned at the tight, silky slide of flesh over the most sensitive part of him. The fire between his hips had been stoked to roaring, and he knew he couldn’t last much longer. He was just about chanting his name when he finally came, tangling it up in endearments and sweet little epithets that always seemed to catch Rick a little off-guard no matter how many times he said them.

_Oh, fuck, Rick, Rick, baby, Rick, o-oh, honey, you’re so fucking sweet, Rick, so fucking good to me, riding me so good, Rick, baby, you’re so fucking good, so beautiful, beautiful, honey._

Rick gripped Negan’s knees where they were propped up at his chest, leaning over to briefly nuzzle one with his cheek in wordless acknowledgement. He rode him steadily as he spasmed, and Negan saw his length coated in his own release as Rick rose over it and plunged back, never losing his rhythm as Negan shook and rocked his hips beneath him.

_There’s another perfect photo,_ he thought a little deliriously. He fell back and let himself drift for a few blissful moments before he struggled up to a sitting position. “Come here,” he grunted, tugging at Rick’s arm. “I know you didn’t come yet. Come fuck my mouth.” Negan licked his lips and grinned a little at Rick’s red face. “What? You’ve been a real good boy today. I think you deserve a treat. I know you fucking love when I swallow your cock, baby.”

Rick rose to his knees before him, letting a hand bury itself in Negan’s dark hair. “I just like it when you’re quiet, Negan,” he shot back, and Negan chuckled as he wrapped his lips around the hard, flushed cock. He took him in deep, and he relished the soft, pleased sound Rick made as his fingers tightened in his hair.

—

The only saving grace was that Carl and Judith were unharmed. It was the only thing, Negan figured, that had stopped Rick from going straight over the fucking edge.

Carl was actually the first one he encountered, sitting grim-faced and with a rifle in his lap in the guard tower. He cut a pathetic figure there, looking younger than he ever had. The front gate had been crushed and trampled by many dead feet, and the walls had been brought down in so many places as to make sitting in the guard tower an exercise in futility. Negan didn’t point that out, though. He just stared up at the pale boy, trying to think of something to say to the kid.

Carl beat him to it. “Is this what you wanted?” he called, voice wavering.

No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He had never wanted this kind of devastation - not for Alexandria, and not for Rick.

And the man was devastated.

He could see it in the way he moved: every step heavy, as if his own body were a burden and he were ready to collapse beneath the weight. From the moment Negan decided that Rick would be his, he focused his considerable energy into making sure that collapse didn’t happen. He was as respectful as he could manage to be, but from the moment he stepped foot in the ruined town, he took over. The walls needed hasty, makeshift repairs to hold them over until they could be expertly rebuilt. Patrols needed to be deployed around the clock to protect the vulnerable remains of the town and its people.

And graves needed to be dug.

He wanted to burn the bodies - it was just the only practical thing these days - but Rick wouldn’t hear of it. He at least managed to persuade the man to allow Saviors to do the bulk of the digging, although he couldn’t stop him and the handful of survivors from helping.

He stayed out of the way of the burials. When all was said and done, it was a sobering amount of burials. That blonde man Aaron had been shrieking over. The priest. The redneck. The hot chick who was kneeling next to the redhead that night, the one with the huge, dark, velvety eyes. The other hot chick with the flowing locs who looked like a fucking queen, proud and composed, even on her knees. There were others, people Negan didn’t know. All told, it was three or four dozen people that got put in the ground. Aside from Aaron, there were pitifully few people left of Rick’s group. Only Rosita and a dark-haired, doe-eyed young woman who he learned was Tara had survived the onslaught of the dead.

He could hardly communicate with any of them. Aaron stumbled around like a dead man himself, looking dazed and haunted. Tara never seemed to stop crying. Rosita was the only one that he could hold anything resembling a conversation with, as much as it was clear from every snarled word that she hated him. That was fine. She had good reason to hate him. He _respected_ her for hating him, twisted as that was.

“Why would we go to the Sanctuary?” she had asked him sharply, when he made his proposition.

“To be with Rick,” he replied patiently. “I guess he’d be happier if you all came with him. You know. I’m not gonna be the one that breaks the fucking family up.”

She gave a long, bitter laugh at that, tilting her head back and narrowing her dark eyes. “Yeah, sure. Why is _Rick_ going to the Sanctuary?”

“Because he agreed to it,” Negan said, scratching at his beard. “Shit is gonna change, Rosie. It’s gotta change. I know all about the rebellion you and the other communities were cooking up. Obviously it’s not gonna fucking happen now. Fate fucking intervened, and now we all gotta adapt.”

She was silent, watchful, eyes narrowing even further until they were dark slits in her face.

“Rebellion,” he chuckled ruefully. “Like I’m the evil fucking empire, and you were all gonna blow up the Death Star. Right? You think I wanted to be the evil empire, doll? Who the _fuck_ wants to be the evil empire? Jesus. I wanted to be Skywalker like every other kid. I do the shit I do for survival, like every other asshole left alive in this world. That’s it. I adapted. You adapted. Now the circumstances around us have gotten much shittier, and we have to adapt together, or Alexandria is gonna turn into a ghost town, and what’s left of your _family_ isn’t gonna survive.”

“Why the hell would you want to help us survive?” Rosita asked coldly. “Like, excuse the fuck out of me for being confused, but so far you seem to have a real hard-on for killing us.”

A dozen irreverent rejoinders rose to his mind, but he checked each of them before they could spill out. This graveyard-town was no place for mockeries, and there was no chance of anything growing out of its ashes unless they could be honest with each other. Negan could afford to be honest now, could afford every magnanimity now that the war had been won and his would-be enemies slaughtered without him firing a shot. “I just wanted you all to fall into line. That’s it. I didn’t fucking want everyone to die. If I did, I would have just killed you all that first night. I just wanted you scared. Too scared to fight.” Negan shrugged. “It’s worked for me before, you know? People hate it, but they’re alive to hate it. Isn’t that the point? To fucking stay alive?”

Rosita shook her head slowly. “There’s more to this shit than staying alive. I feel like you probably get that. I feel like if it was you, watching people you love die, watching your supplies get stolen by greedy pricks, watching people get fucking terrorized - you’d do the same fucking thing. Tell me the fucking truth,” her voice had risen, and her eyes had grown wet, “you tell me the fucking truth: if it was you, you’d _die_ before you lived that way. Like a fucking _slave_ , on your knees. Right? Am I right?”

“Yeah,” Negan said honestly. “You’re right.”

Rosita stared at him. For the briefest of moments, an almost feral grief surfaced in her eyes, and Negan was sure she was about to begin sobbing or swinging. Or both. It was gone as swiftly as it appeared, and she straightened her shoulders. “Fuck you,” she spat.

“Fuck you, too, beautiful,” Negan sighed. “But it’s like I said. All we can fucking do is adapt.”

Rosita swallowed thickly, still glaring. “You said Rick agreed to it,” she said, voice a little hoarse. “Agreed to _what_?”

—

Rick came hard with a stifled cry, bracing himself against Negan’s shoulders as the man swallowed around him. He released him from his mouth with a loud, wet, obscene sound, and the man folded slowly over him with a groan, limp as a doll.

Negan caught him and eased him down to the bed. “Little help?” he whispered throatily in his ear, and Rick’s hand went with familiar ease to his re-awakened cock, moving over him until he spilled over his taut stomach, his breath coming in heavy, almost desperate pants. He collapsed into a sticky pile next to him, and they rested in contented silence for awhile.

“Dead Eye wants to start patrolling,” Negan murmured, eyes half-closed. “What do you say, daddy?”

“Don’t call him that,” Rick said irritably.

Negan knew Rick hated Carl’s new nickname around the Sanctuary. It wasn’t because of offense: it wasn’t meant to be offensive. People said it with awe and deference. The boy was Annie fucking Oakley with a gun these days. No, it was just that Rick resented that Carl had flourished under Negan’s tutelage. The boy had moved beyond accepting his ruined eye - he saw it as the stamp of his survival, a source of pride. He never wore his patch anymore, and that was Negan’s doing. Rick was happy for his son, was proud of him, but it hardly cooled that resentment.

“Okay,” Negan acquiesced, shifting to his side to look at Rick. “ _Carl_ wants to start patrolling.”

Rick blew out a weary sigh. “Thought he was gonna apprentice with Carter and Tara in the infirmary. He’s been doin’ that all these weeks. We need more medics.”

“I know,” Negan said quietly. “But he doesn’t want to be one, that’s the thing. He wants to be a -“ _Savior_ , is what he was going to say, but he held his tongue. It would hurt Rick to hear it. He didn’t want to hurt Rick. “He wants to patrol,” he said carefully instead, “and he’s got the fucking skill for it, Rick. You know that. He’s smart, he’s fast, and he’s careful.” He touched the side of Rick’s face, and he bit his lip as Rick turned away slightly, almost on instinct. “But it’s your fucking call. He’s your son. If you want me to, I’ll order him to train in the infirmary, and that’ll be that.”

Rick gave a faint, bitter laugh. “You think so, huh? Obvious you never had any kids, Negan.”

That stung. Negan withdrew his hand from Rick’s cheek.

After a moment, Rick turned to him, eyes soft and a little apologetic. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Like what?” Negan asked nonchalantly, trying to play off the sudden heaviness in his chest.

Rick looked down, and he pressed a hand against where the steady thump of Negan’s heartbeat could be felt. “Just didn’t mean…for it to sound like that. I know you…you know.”

He had wanted kids, just in time to be too late. Lucille already had something growing inside her, and it wasn’t a baby. He had told Rick the entire miserable story one day, the confession sliding out of him with a few glasses of whiskey acting as lubricant. To his credit, Rick had never used that vulnerability against him. Not on purpose, anyway. _Judith will probably grow up lookin’ at you as a parent,_ he had told him gently. _Long as you act like one,_ he had added, voice a little colder.

“I guess you know how I feel,” Rick sighed after a moment. “But I can’t keep him from what he wants to do. Ain’t right. I know he can do it. I just…” he trailed off, eyes troubled and sad.

Negan reached for him again, and he was gratified when he didn’t pull away from his caressing fingers. “I won’t send him out without Rosita and Arat,” he promised.

Rick nodded slowly. “Wish he had just taken to the work at the infirmary,” he whispered bitterly. “You know? His mama always hoped he’d be a doctor.”

“Maybe he’ll change his mind after he gets some of this shit out of his system,” Negan said kindly, although he believed no such thing. “You ready to go again?”

Rick gave him a dry smile. “Sure.”

“Honey,” Negan murmured, shifting over him, “I’m gonna make you come again, and you’re gonna forget all that heavy shit for a little while. I fucking promise.” He leaned over and kissed his forehead and both his cheeks.

Rick reached up and buried a hand in his hair, pulling him in to kiss his lips. He bent his knees, thighs coming to fit comfortably against either side of Negan’s chest. “For a little while,” he agreed quietly, eyes drifting closed.

Negan was careful with his lover’s nearly-overtaxed body, pausing his slow thrusts every so often to kiss his parted lips. It was good, going slow after their earlier frenzy, and he always got a little high on it when they ended things this lazy, sweet way. He was murmuring things to him, and he wasn’t fully aware of what they were. That was dangerous, but he liked to live dangerously. “Let me,” he heard himself say when he surfaced a little from the delicious haze of pleasure he was in, “let me, let me, let me - “

Rick pressed his fingers to his mouth, lashes fluttering. “Shut up, Negan,” he moaned, drowsy and slurred, “I’m letting you.”

—

Negan waited until after the burials. He was in Rick’s kitchen when the man returned from the last of them. He walked in, still moving so very slowly, like he was fighting his way through molasses. He sat down across from Negan with his eyes lowered and dark lashes stark against his white cheeks.

“Whatever it is you have to do,” Rick sighed, “do it to me. Okay? Just do it to me.”

_Here we go,_ Negan thought, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not like that, sheriff.”

His eyes flicked up to Negan’s briefly, puzzled, and then slid away as if it hurt to hold his gaze. “Like what?”

“Like whatever you’re thinking.”

Rick wet his lips. “I know you know about what we were planning. You sayin’ you’re not gonna punish us?”

Negan gestured towards the window, indicating the devastation beyond it with a wry laugh. “You’ve been punished. What the fuck am I gonna do? There’s zero fucking chance of you being able to fight us anymore. You won’t even be able to survive on your own without help. Not a lot of the townspeople left, anyway - it’s all the people who were hiding in the basement, right? Too old, too young, too sick to fight? You’re in fucking trouble, Rick, bad fucking trouble. Guess I don’t have to tell you that.”

Rick’s head was slowly drooping as he spoke, and now it hung limply forward on his shoulders like a dying flower. “No,” he whispered, “you don’t have to tell me.”

“I’m not here to fucking rub it in your face, Rick. I’m here because I want to help you. I get it. You think I don’t fucking get it? You wanted more for your people. We took from you. It was hard. You wanted it to stop. I want you to know that I get it, and I don’t want you to think that what I’m about to say is - is what you think is coming. A punishment. It’s not. It’s a fucking opportunity.”

Rick had lifted his head and was taking in his words with narrowed, suspicious eyes. At that last bit, his brow furrowed in confusion.

_Cute,_ Negan thought wistfully. A hell of a thing to notice, given the circumstances, but Rick with his head tilted and his eyebrows drawn in was fucking cute, like a bewildered puppy. “I’m taking over Alexandria. It’ll be a part of the Sanctuary now. The burbs. You know? A little less steel, a little more white picket fence.” Alexandria could have used a little more steel if the ruined wall was any indication, but Negan kept his mouth shut on that. “That means that it’s gonna be my responsibility from now on. To rebuild, to defend. Are you getting this, Rick?”

“Why?” he breathed, eyes wide. “Why would you do that?”

Negan shrugged. “It’s the only play, Rick. It’s that, or Alexandria dies. Gets overrun permanently, like so many of the fucking ghost towns out there. It would be stupid for us to let that happen. This place is built to last a fucking apocalypse. You know how rare it is to find working solar panels? Running water? This place is special. And so are you, Rick,” he added quietly. “That’s why I know you’ll get it, and you’ll agree to my terms.”

Rick sat back, eyes darkening in understanding. “What terms?” he asked in a soft, wary tone that suggested he had a good idea of what the terms would be. Negan had never been subtle about his less-than-innocent fascination.

“You marry me,” Negan said casually, “and live at the Sanctuary. It’s real medieval shit, you know? Merging our kingdoms with marriage. That’s what we’re back to these shitty fucking days, all that medieval shit. Fucking Ezekiel’s got the right idea.”

“Marry you,” Rick echoed calmly. “Right. And what does that mean?”

Negan didn’t pretend not to understand what he was talking about. “You have to let me fuck you,” he said simply.

Rick was silent. His only movement was the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed and the slow, steady blinking of his ocean eyes as they drifted to rest on the table in front of him.

Negan shifted in his seat and sighed. “Kills two birds with one stone,” he said, almost apologetically. “You’re a fucking troublemaker, Rick. I need to keep you close, or one day you’re probably gonna make some more for me. And I want to fuck you. I _really_ want to fuck you.” He licked his lips and watched Rick. The only sign the man gave that he had even heard him was a reddening of his face. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quietly, and Rick finally looked up again, eyes rounded with a surprise that stung Negan. He felt his lips twist sourly, dismay searing his chest. “Like I said, Rick, this is an opportunity, not a fucking punishment. Jesus. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not gonna, baby,” he let his voice melt on his words, earning another startled look from Rick. “I swear on my mother’s grave. I want you in my bed. I can make you feel so fucking good, honey. Hell, fucking is what I’m fucking _best_ at, Rick. Better than running shit, better than crushing heads in with Lucille. It’s a goddamn calling.”

“Why don’t you wanna hurt me?”

It took Negan a moment to register the question. “What?”

“If I’m such a troublemaker, if I’ve made things so damn hard for you, then why don’t you wanna hurt me?”

He sat back and eyed Rick appraisingly. He could so easily be glib, but it was no time for that. It was all too precarious, too desperate, too fucking _sad_. He could still see those rows and rows and rows of graves, and it wasn’t what he wanted. It _wasn’t_. Only honesty, he reminded himself. Only honesty could save them now, and maybe what Sherry always preached - softness. “You know what, Rick? I think maybe you’ve been hurt enough,” he said finally, in a subdued tone.

He couldn’t have predicted the reaction he would get, but there was honesty for you - it had the power to strip people raw.

Rick’s eyes flooded with tears as his face crumpled at Negan’s words. He covered his face with his hands as he sucked in a wet, shuddering breath.

Negan stood up so quickly that he knocked the wooden chair he was sitting in to the floor with a loud crash. He had rounded the table in an instant and bent sharply over Rick, a hand clamped to the back of the man’s neck as he spoke so closely and intimately that his lips brushed the soft whorls of his ear. “Let me fucking save you,” he breathed. “Let me save you, Rick. I can fucking do it. Say yes, honey. Say yes, say yes.”

Rick lowered his hands slowly. His expression was composed and aloof, although the warm light of the setting sun caught the red in his desolate eyes and damp cheeks. “Yes,” he said.

—

Negan was sprawled on his back beside Rick, breathless and soaked with sweat in the aftermath of his release. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, but he fought to stay awake.

“I know I fucking push you to do shit sometimes,” he panted as soon as he was able to speak. “Like the fucking…fucking pictures, baby. Do you hate it?”

_Do you hate me?_

Rick looked at him, and Negan knew from the serious expression in his eyes that he heard his real question. He was silent, and Negan realized with a start that he was afraid of his answer. The knot in his chest eased when Rick slowly shook his head in negation.

“Guess I don’t,” he said simply. He motioned for Negan to come to him, and he did, curling around his body and nuzzling his face into his chest tiredly. “If I hear that someone else saw those pictures, though, I’m gonna cut your damn balls off,” Rick said sharply.

Negan chuckled. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, baby.” He rained kisses on his bare chest until he wrung a reluctant smile out of him.

“Asshole,” Rick murmured, pushing a hand through his dark hair, his touch soft.

**Author's Note:**

> Have I got a soft touch? Have I hit a raw nerve? The Depeche Mode song didn't inspire the title per se, but I think it works.


End file.
